


Hands Where I Can See ‘Em

by obliviateme



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Cats, Closets, Coming Out, Cute Ending, Fluff, Harry Has a Crush, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Cream, M/M, Niall Horan & Harry Styles Friendship, Niall Horan Ships Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Police Officer Louis, Rich Harry Styles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 01:35:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4502736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obliviateme/pseuds/obliviateme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What begins as Harry innocently trying to rescue a cat turns out to be Harry trying to rescue a Hot Cop instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands Where I Can See ‘Em

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my lovely coauthor Erika (drumandeeebass.tumblr.com) for collaborating with me on the idea and writing the brilliant epilogue to our fic! Also many thanks to Megan (crashnburn) for being a wonderful beta again! 10/10 god bless you ladies!

“Thank fucking God.”

 

Harry chews on his thumbnail as he slams on the brakes. Damn Merkel in front of him doesn’t know how to drive. She consistently rushes to the break room a half hour before her shift is even over, and nobody ever asks what she’s actually doing before she clocks out. Well, Harry asked once. And she threatened to get him back by writing him up for Inappropriate Advances with an installer. Apparently he told a man “thanks so much for your business” one too many times. These fucking people. He doesn’t know how much longer he’ll last.

 

Another day done at the office, and he can’t be more pumped to go meet Niall at the 24-hour diner. He’s so sick of taking orders and calling people to ask how their pickups went and putting up with his coworkers’ homophobia. “Harry, are you dating that guy? You looked at him for a while.” “You think he’s cute?” “Wanna jump on _that_ D?” He came out to his parents in high school, but his dad has had it swept under the rug since. It’s like he just doesn’t have a sexuality. Never mind what his dad would do if he found out Niall’s asexual. Probably send Harry to friend boot camp or something. If they’d let him have a day off ever.

 

As he stares down the dark open road, he turns up his car stereo and lets Queen do the talking. Or he tries, but his thoughts threaten to drown the music out like always. His brain’s locked up all day filing orders and sitting through long phone calls with crabby old people who want their replacement appliances _now,_ so every time he gets off work his mind slingshots straight into erratic thoughts.

 

Harry only works at Independent Warehouse because his Dad owns the damn thing. And as much as Harry despises certain parts of the job, it’s why he has his Audi, his three pet snakes and his aquarium, his German shepherd Liam, his recording equipment, his musical instruments, and his bookshelves full of worlds that are much more exhilarating than Independent Warehouse. It’s also how he met Niall, since he just happens to have Harry’s intimidating, balding boss as an uncle.

 

Without this salary, what would he even be doing? He hasn’t made it as a musician, he can’t cut his own hair, his artwork is mediocre, and his storytelling could use some work. He doesn’t even have a proper boyfriend to share it all with. Not since high school, when he was running around buying shoes and cologne and video games for Max and convincing himself that someone who spent more time on Halo 3 than his boyfriend was worth keeping around. Because couples just fight sometimes, right?

 

 

Harry rolls his eyes as he tightens his grip on his leather steering wheel. Thank God that’s over with. It’s been seven years since he graduated high school, but the memory of that douchebag telling him he never loved him still kicks him in the gut sometimes. But whatever. He’s off work for the night, and that’s all that matters.

 

He swings his car around the bend to keep following the back road home, the one that winds and curves and makes him think he’s in a scary movie. He’s gotta live on the edge somehow. He used to drive the straightaways with his headlights off just for the thrill of it, but that was before some cop with an Aussie accent pulled him over for it and questioned his choice of seagull-patterned blouse. Offensive cop if there ever was one. Anyway, now he drives with his eyes glued on the road, huge and silly. Not that cops make his heart rate spike anymore, ever since the time he made out with one in a port-a-potty at Vancouver Pride. That was probably the least hygienic kiss he’s ever taken part in, but still, outrageously hot. As much as he hates cops, he has to admit, the whole western “sexy cops” trope really gets him. Goddamn. He is a weirdo.

 

Finally Merkel makes a turn onto the interstate and Harry speeds ahead, nodding along to Queen and trying to forget he’s a person. Especially that he’s a person with a job he hates. But before he knows it –

 

“Oh my GOD!”

 

He’s screaming so loud, he didn’t even know those sounds could come out of his mouth. His heart does the can-can as his brakes screech to a halt. A small orange kitten darts out from across the road, leaps its way in front of an oncoming SUV, and dives straight onto Harry’s windshield. It lands on its feet, but its little belly makes a soft _smack_ on the glass, and its eyes are so wide and terrified Harry says a quick thanks to the Cat God that his windshield wipers were not on.

 

“Oh my God, Oh my God,” Harry repeats, swerving as he speeds out of the lane and puts his Audi in park faster than he knows what he’s doing. He considers waiting for the next couple cars to pass him just in case they side swipe his tall figure in the black of the night, but it’s not worth it. The kitten could be hurt, and it needs help, and why aren’t there ambulances for animals? This world is cruel.

 

His Audi is halfway in a ditch, but it doesn’t matter: the kitten is nowhere to be seen, and he needs to right this. Fast. He tip toes around the car in his ankle boots, making the best clucking noise he knows to call cats with. He’s trying not to freak out, but where did the little guy go? Harry has one hand on his iPhone sticking out of the too-small butt pocket of his skinny jeans, ready to speed dial Niall to get him in on the search, when he hears a faint mewing from the grassy brush off the side of the road.

 

As cars go speeding past, shining their brights right on Harry’s flamingo-patterned self, Harry gets down on all fours and starts thinking: Where would I be if I was a runaway cat?

 

“Kitty, kitty,” Harry coos softly, squinting in the darkness to find the orange baby. Of course he had to be scheduled until ten o’ clock tonight. Too late to help out small kitties on the side of the road. But then again, maybe it’s fate. Maybe this is meant to be, and the good lord is responding to his dream the night before, where he lived with exactly 56 cats.

 

But it’s cold out, so this fuzzy bastard better not hide too long.

 

“Oh my God,” Harry says for the tenth time, his face lighting up as he looks under his Audi. When the orange kitten spots him from next to his front wheel, it starts mewing relentlessly.

 

“Oh my God, it’s cold out! You felt it too! Oh, you poor thing. Come here.” Harry reaches out for the kitten like it’s a newborn baby, too precious for this world.

 

He shouldn’t be surprised at how easy the kitten comes into his arms; he’s always been good with animals. But this kitten really seems to think Harry’s his mommy, so into Harry’s arms it climbs, quickly clawing its way up his shirt and balancing on the dip between neck and shoulder.

 

“Hey!” Harry exclaims. “That’s real silk. Off it.”

 

The kitten paws into his lap and sort of bounces around, doing a little kitten jig as it tries to get comfortable.

 

“Are you okay?” Harry asks the kitten as he dips back into the driver’s seat and shuts the car door behind him. Half his car is submerged in mud now, but it’ll be worth it if he can get this little one to the shelter safely. He would take it home, but Gemma’s allergic, and well… Really, that’s just a sign he should keep the kitten and move out, right? Not that he’s exactly proud of living at home at 23 anyway, so… This is the perfect opportunity. Mom, Dad, I found a cat and we’re going to live happily ever after.

 

Well, he’ll think it over as he drives. He’s pretty sure the closest shelter is on the way to his house, so he’ll decide when it’s time. But first he has to call Niall.

 

“I’m going to start the car now, little one,” Harry says, reaching down to stroke the kitten’s head. The little thing is now shaking, and Harry doesn’t see any bruises or marks on it, but maybe it got bitten or slapped by another cat. Do cats slap each other? Is that a thing?

 

The kitten makes no reply, just jumps off his lap and crawls onto the center console, leaning up to scratch the back of the passenger seat.

 

Harry lets out a full-out shriek, reaching forward to yank the kitten off the back of the seat as gently as he can. Maybe picking up a feral cat wasn’t such a good idea, but its face as it propelled forward toward his windshield… It was like God in cat form. He couldn’t just leave the little one hanging.

 

“Shelter it is,” Harry decides, and brings the engine to life. With one hand stilling the kitten in the passenger’s seat, he turns to check for oncoming cars before merging back out onto the winding road. He passes a Tim Horton’s and three gas stations before the kitten is back on his lap, meowing so loudly that the pounding bass from the Toyota in the next lane is barely audible. There are actual lanes on either side of him now, but there are only several more minutes to the shelter, and – shit. Are they even going to be open? Fuck fuck fuck.

 

“Honey, honey,” Harry soothes the kitten, reaching down to scratch behind its ears before he realizes its tiny warm body is nowhere to be felt. He takes a quick glance down. Nowhere to be seen, either. Shit, shit, shit. Where did it go? Is he about to step on it? Harry ducks under the wheel to make sure it didn’t end up near the pedals – nope – and turns around to check the backseat – not there either – and when he swivels back around the nose of his car is centimeters away from a Porsche zooming past him.

                      

 “Fuck,” he mutters. This kitten might cost him his life, but it’s so cute. The motion of turning back around in his seat upsets his steering wheel again, and he’s swerving into the left lane, so close to sideswiping an SUV that honks louder than sin at him. He’s officially scared shitless, but his fear settles down in nice cushy clouds around him when the cat comes mewing innocently into the front seat again.

 

“Oh, thank God,” Harry says, but the little orange devil is climbing over the center console, crying at full volume, pawing at his flamingo shirt again and looking up at him like he holds the world in his hands. “No.”

 

He’s picking up the kitten and placing it down gently on the passenger’s seat and in his lap back and forth, over and over, whispering to it to placate it. He doesn’t realize he’s cruising through a red light until loud sirens accompany the flashing red-and-blue lights of a police car that hops on his trail.

 

“Fuuuuuuuck.” Harry takes a hand off the wheel to clutch at his face. Of course. He hopes it’s not Aussie Cop again, there to grill him about his sense of style.

 

The sight of the kitten curled up on his knee calms his thudding heart long enough to allow him to pull smoothly into the deserted garden area of the local Walmart parking lot. He puts his car in park, hopes for the best, and keeps his sweaty palm on the kitten’s bony back as the cop car comes to a stop in the row of parking spaces behind him.

 

The cop walks up to Harry’s window and taps on the glass. Oh God, he didn’t even roll his window down. He should be in jail already. He slams into the auto window button so hard he thinks he breaks his finger. He squints up into the officer’s face. And nearly shits himself. Oh my God, what a face. Too bad Harry looks like he’s constipated and there’s a rampant kitten on his lap. And he just ran a red light and – well, basically, too bad he’s Harry.

 

“Thanks for that,” the officer says. Damn, why are cops all so sarcastic? That’s Harry’s job. He gets uncomfortable when another person tries to one up his sarcasm strike. Who does this Officer… Louis? think he is?

 

“You’re welcome, Officer Lew-is.” He doesn’t even hear it leave his mouth. He just knows he said it. He’s definitely going to end up in jail.

 

The cop stands up straight, looking like he’s just heard the worst insult of his life.

 

“You should know better than to talk like that to authorities,” the man says crisply. “And it’s _Louis_. No ‘s.’ Driver’s license and registration –“ He says it like there should be a ‘please’ at the end, but Harry doesn’t receive the privilege of being asked nicely.

 

“Sure,” Harry says, and leans over to retrieve the goods. Mostly he’s just trying to hide his face so Officer Louis doesn’t see him chuckling at the way he says his name. What is this, France? “You having a good night, sir?” he asks the cop when he straightens back up.

 

“Peachy,” Officer Louis replies. “Just love pulling over reckless young drivers who don’t know red from green.”

 

“Well, personally, they’re both my favorite colors, so it’s hard to pick one over the other sometimes, you know? I don’t like to leave either feeling left out.”

 

“Mr. Styles, I suggest you shut your mouth.”

 

“Oh,” Harry says, looking at himself in the rearview mirror. He runs a hand through his hair and mentally smacks himself for not plucking his eyebrows lately. Officer Louis is going to think he’s some sort of hairy freak. Well, and he’ll definitely be able to see every ingrown hair in those harsh fluorescent prison lights.

 

“1992… You are young,” Officer Louis says, shaking his head. “Didn’t you see what you were –”

 

“I’m 23 –” Harry interrupts.

 

Louis raises his voice. “Didn’t you see what you were doing, swerving around and acting a maniac?”

 

“Well, sir, with all due respect, I have a feral kitten in the car that needs help.”

 

Louis bends over again to look around in Harry’s car. “Well?” he asks, looking straight into Harry’s eyes and making him feel like he’s transparent. “Where is it?”

 

“Uh,” Harry says, and the next thing he knows Officer Louis is asking him to step out of the car and do the sobriety walk. Well, this is a first. That kitten chose an awful lovely time to hide.

 

“I swear it’s just under the seat, Officer Louis, let me check,” Harry pleads as he prepares to do the walk in his high-heeled boots.

 

“I’ve traveled with cats before,” Officer Louis says like he’s reciting some police code from the police book. “I know how wild they get. If there was a cat in there, I’d have seen it. Now stop talking and walk down the line.”

 

“Alright,” Harry says, snapping his fingers as he walks forward, bending his knees and waving jazz hands as he walks down the line. “At least I look good doing it, right?”

 

Louis pinches the bridge of his nose before staring down at his clunky black boots. “Enough. Mr. Styles, go back to the beginning of the line and redo it, or I’m arresting you for DUI.” He pats the handcuffs dangling from his leather belt. “Are you on spice?”

 

“Spice?” Harry repeats, scratching his head. “What is spice?”

 

“Bath salts?” the cop asks.

 

Harry tilts his head.

 

“E?”

 

“Sorry, Officer Louis, I have no idea what code you’re rattling off over there,” Harry says, shrugging as he walks down the line again, completely serious this time except for the exaggerated swing of his hands as he goes. He doesn’t really know why he’s doing all this, but it might have something to do with the fact that this officer is hotter than his summer vacation in L.A. last year. And also he knows the longer he stalls, the more chance the cute little kitten has of crawling out from wherever it’s hiding.

 

“No drugs?” Louis asks, crossing his arms. “Recreationally? Did you take anything?”

 

“No,” Harry laughs, gesturing to the line. “Well? How’d I do?”

 

“Alright,” Louis replies curtly. “I just want to know why you ran a red light like there was no tomorrow.”

 

Harry raises his eyebrows and throws his hands in the air. “Are you interested in me or something? Not that I’d blame you if you were. I told you, I have a kitten in the car that I need to get to a shelter.”

 

Louis squints at him. “What did you say?”

 

“I said I have a kitten who needs –”

 

“Stand on one leg, please, Mr. Styles,” Louis cuts across him.

 

Harry takes a step back, looking the cop up and down. He actually takes him in for the first time, perfectly pleated navy pants almost sagging under the weight of his belt. He’s not wearing a cop hat, thank God. That’s the only thing that kills Harry’s sexy cop vibe, is one of those ridiculous hats. Now he can do all the sobriety tests in the world while still imagining Officer Louis bending him over his Audi. Too bad getting a hard on isn’t one of the available tests.

 

“You’re really going all out tonight, aren’t you?” Harry asks, smirking when Louis reaches to run a hand through his mess of soft hair. “Which leg?”

 

“Any leg will do,” Officer Louis says, monotone, and claps his hands dramatically in front of him. Harry can tell he’s unraveling him, and it’s the best feeling in the world.

 

“Alright, alright, don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

 

“Mr. Styles.”

 

“I’m going,” Harry says, and he lifts a leg and stands like a flamingo, staring down Officer Louis like his life depends on it. It only takes the cop a few heartbeats to look away. I win, Harry thinks.

 

Louis the Cop’s eyes narrow as he watches Harry balance perfectly on one leg – one high-heeled boot, no less. What was he, a prima ballerina? This is getting ridiculous. But it’s just getting good for Harry, who can just see Officer Louis’s glassy edge start to shatter like one of Gemma’s crackle nail polishes. Harry’s partial to the red; he’s even painted the varnish on some of his fingernails before getting bored or distracted. But that’s beside the point.

 

“Ridiculous,” Louis mutters, tucking his thumbs in his belt loops. “Put your leg down,” he orders Harry, because he knows if he doesn’t, he’ll be watching the taller man just stand there on one leg grinning at him with those stupid puppy dog eyes.

 

“What did you expect from Flamingo Man?” Harry asks reasonably, gesturing at his silky shirt as he lets his leg fall to the pavement beneath him.

 

Louis sighs deeply as he crosses his arms tight across his broad chest. “Be quiet, unless you’re looking to fork over some cash for a fine.” It’s curt, but there’s still a falter in it, a fluctuating that Harry thinks is too good not to take advantage of. This guy can’t be too much older than him, unless he’s an old man with a baby face, in which case Harry wants to know his exfoliating secrets.

 

Harry says nothing, just gives Louis a small wink as he tucks his fingers in his back pockets and prays for that kitten to make an appearance.

 

“Give me the alphabet,” Louis says simply.

 

Harry blinks. “What?”

 

“The alphabet,” Louis repeats. “Didn’t learn that in school?”

 

Harry clutches a hand to his chest. Is he serious? This officer is trying to out-sass him, and well, that’s just not going to work. He only recently perfected the art of sass, having practiced all throughout school, but Officer Louis gets paid to sass, and that’s a level Harry hasn’t ascended to yet.

 

“Why –” Harry begins, but he wants Officer Louis to like some part of him, so he opens his mouth and starts reciting the grand old alphabet and bursting into a sing-song lullaby (Harry doesn’t notice it; Louis does).

 

When he hits “V”, his cell phone goes off. Loudly. It’s all Harry can do not to look in Louis’s bright eyes as Fergalicious starts blaring between them.

 

“Sorry,” Harry squeaks. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Officer Louis cover his face with his hands. As Harry squeezes his fingers into the tight pocket of his skinny jeans, he catches a glimpse of how small Louis’s hands are as he pulls them away from his face. Oh my god, they’re even smaller than the orange kitten. Harry wants them all over his body. Damn it.

 

“Just have to take this call,” Harry says, slipping his iPhone to his ear. “Hey, Niall?”

 

Louis audibly groans, rocking back on his feet and looking like he deeply regrets his choice of profession.

 

“Hey, Niall,” Harry says softly into the phone, his voice growing deeper and his face softening as his best friend gives a hearty, “Hey man!” Niall’s bright voice is so loud in the darkness, Louis’s nose twitches with every word.

 

“Hey,” Harry says again. “I’m so sorry, I got held up.”

 

“Ow owww,” Niall calls. “Is he cute?”

 

Harry’s heart thuds as he looks up at Officer Louis. “Uh. Well. Uh, well, now’s not the time, Niall.”

 

Officer Louis clears his throat. Loudly. Several times. Enough times to make Harry feel like the biggest dick in the world for even daring to be on the phone in his presence. Never mind that his life with or without a future fine was already on the line.

 

Harry can hear Niall’s huge smile as he asks, “What’s his name?”

 

“Bye, Niall,” Harry says loudly. “I’ll be there soon as I can.” He shoves his phone back into his pocket and clears his throat. Looking up at Officer Louis now is going to be the hardest thing he’s ever done; he’s going to be judging him so hard, some creepy guy after the hot cop, but… When Harry finally forces his eyes on the shorter cop, he finds Louis staring into Harry’s Audi, face pressed up against the glass where he palms a slim black flashlight.

 

“What?” Harry asks, stumbling over the heels of his boots in his haste to reach Officer Louis hunched over his driver’s window.

 

“Oh my God, there it is,” Louis remarks, his voice shooting two octaves higher.

 

Harry shoves into Louis’s shoulder as he opens the car door. The kitten immediately pounces out and propels itself straight into Harry’s arms.

 

“Oof,” Harry says, catching the ball of orange fuzz and smiling like he’s never seen something so full of joy. It loves him so much, so unconditionally. So unlike all his crabby customers and what-crawled-up-your-ass-and-died bosses.

 

“Wow,” Officer Louis says, eyes glazed over. Then he seems to remember where he is, and he spends the next couple seconds regrouping in his brain as he watches Harry struggle with the kitten that’s crawling around his arms and shoulders.

 

“Isn’t he precious?” Harry asks Officer Louis. His eyes sparkle as he wraps big hands around the kitten that is now pawing its way through his hair. “I think it’s trying to give me a French braid.”

 

“Could, with that overgrown mane,” Louis says.

 

Harry moves to kick Louis in the shins, but then he remembers that even though this man is practically half his height, he is a cop and Harry’s probably pulled enough goofy stunts for one evening. But damn, when a man looks like that…

 

“I was going to take her to a shelter,” Harry says softly, cradling the squirming kitten in his arms again.

 

Louis lifts an eyebrow. “Not with that driving.”

 

“I’ll be fine. I’ll put her under a blanket or something.”

 

“Do you have any blankets?”

 

Harry looks sideways into his car as if to check on his blanket stock. “No.”

 

Louis nods curtly. “Right. I’m taking the cat.”

 

Harry’s eyes widen in horror. “ _No_.”

 

Louis looks up to the dark sky and seems to say a tiny prayer before looking back down at Harry. Well, up at Harry. “You cannot be trusted to drive with this thing.”

 

Harry clutches at his hair. “And you can? Do you regularly handle wild energetic kittens?”

 

Louis narrows his eyes. “What did I say about talking back?”

 

Harry holds back an eye roll and is still scrubbing at his hair when he says, “I mean, my sister’s allergic anyway…” Shit, wait, what? Why did he say that? Officer Louis did not need to know that. Now he’s gonna take the kitten away like he’s some kind of ASPCA guy or social worker there to take Harry’s child away for neglect. No way is Short-Yet-Disturbingly-Attractive-Cop getting away with this.

 

“Then that settles it,” Officer Louis says, just like Harry knew he would, and reaches out to take the mewing kitten from Harry’s arms. “I’m taking it to the shelter. You said it needed help.”

 

“Uerrguhhhhh,” Harry groans as the kitten clings to the stiff fabric of Officer Louis’s dark uniform. Immediately orange and white hairs coat Louis’s arms and chest, and, well, better that than Harry’s real silk shirt. Something tugs at his chest when he sees Louis looking down at the kitten in a way that doesn’t suggest that he wants to strangle the poor thing. Harry just assumes cops are heartless, and for the most part he’s right, but this one… Well, why the hell was this one a cop? What cop pulls someone over and then takes their cat? What was he like in cop school? This entire night is absurd. He can’t wait to tell Niall. Not that he’ll believe they didn’t actually do anything. Which, Harry scrubs at his chin silently and thinks, there may still be time for… Is it wishful thinking?

 

This may be his last chance. As Officer Louis backs up several steps with the cat, drawing his musky scent away with him, Harry ducks into his car. He scribbles on his notepad of neon index cards and holds one out to Officer Louis.

 

“Will you call me and let me know how it goes?”

 

He’s done ballsier things, but this is definitely up there.

 

Louis, clinging tightly to the kitten as it paws at his soft hair, does not look at Harry this time. He just stares at the empty parking spots beyond them as he says, “No. That’s not in my line of business.”

 

Harry will not take that for an answer. He wiggles his eyebrows and puts the best puppy dog on the table as he can manage. He knows it’s all in the pout, so he pretends he’s lifting a tiny dumbbell with his chin muscles and stares deep into Officer Louis’s eyes, who eventually looks up from the kitten to catch the tail end of Harry’s attempt.

 

Officer Louis sighs as he puts the kitten in the back of his cop car. “Fine, I’ll… let you know if the thing lives or not.”

 

“Oh, please,” Harry sighs. “Don’t be so melodramatic.” But Louis’s already stepping forward, apparently not hearing a word Harry says again as he leans in to stare at Harry’s driver’s seat.

 

Harry shakes his head. What the hell is Mr. Hot Cop on? “What now?”

 

“I just noticed your car,” Officer Louis says. Halfway through the sentence he tries to warp his voice to sound more intimidating.

 

“It’s registered and insured and all that good stuff,” Harry assures him, waving his palms out to prove his point.

 

“Right, but… it’s an Audi.” Officer Louis brushes cat hair off his arms as he walks around to inspect the front of the car. “An A6. Jesus. Bit muddy, but still.”

 

“Yes,” Harry says, bored, ready to talk about more important things, like whether Officer Louis has any tattoos, or what he thinks of snakes, or what his kinks are, if any, or–

 

“I took a test drive in one of these,” Louis says matter of fact, swiping a hand in midair over one of the headlights. “Great car.”

 

“Uh huh…” Harry says, leaning over to tuck his way into the driver’s seat. This cop looks like he’s about to drool all over Harry’s car, and it’s sucking the attention away from what’s important here. If there’s one thing Harry knows how to do, it’s playing hard to get. Niall will appreciate the grand exit he’s about to give. He keys the ignition, pokes his head out the window toward Mr. Hot Cop, and winks before he asks, “But how will you know what the backseat is like?”

 

Then he speeds away.

 

 

**~*~**

 

 

_Epilogue (3 months later)_

 

 

“I need immediate assistance, officer.”

 

Harry leans in close enough to his companion to get a whiff of his trademark coffee and vanilla icing scent. He dips his nose gingerly into the scoop of peanut butter cup ice cream perched on the crisp cake cone in his hand.

 

“Think you can help me out?” He waggles his brows upwards towards his wavy mane.

 

Louis rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically, reclining back into the curved wooden slats of the bench. Though it’s 9:36pm according to Harry’s scratched silver watch, and though the street lamp by their bench is as dim as a dollar store flash light, he can make out the smirk on Louis’ face as clear as day.

 

“Should I call for backup?” asks Louis, his brows furrowed in faux-concern.

 

Harry chuckles and points to the goopy mess on the tip of his nose. “You really think you can’t handle this alone?”

 

The espresso and doughnut smell intensifies as Louis moves in, planting a tiny smooch on Harry’s nose.

 

“Good point,” he says, “You’re far too delicious to share with anyone else.”

 

Holy shit. How does he just say this crap with a straight face?

 

“Heh. ” Harry grins, his cheeks warming. “Yeah, you wouldn’t want to… ha... ha ha.”

 

And how is it possible that anything that cheesy can destroy his ability to speak in complete sentences? This guy is like a sexy wizard or something.

 

As the sexy wizard tilts his head to kiss the rest of the ice cream away, a gruff voice from behind the bench booms, “Hey Lew-is!”

 

Harry all but leaps away from Louis, feeling his heart try to burrow into his stomach. Once he’s a foot away from the other man, he notices that Louis has hardly even flinched, but instead is flashing a genuine grin at a giant, hairy man in a polo shirt and khaki shorts. For a moment, Harry is distracted from his shock to gawp at the utter dad-ness of this guy. White tube socks, tugboat-sized tennis shoes… all that’s missing is the fanny pack. Was this guy really someone Louis knew? How in the hell…

 

“Reggie, good to see you. ” Louis shakes hands with the dad. “You got the night off, too?”

 

Nodding, Reggie says, “About time, too. Been so busy with all that transfer paperwork Chief gave me. Haven’t had a chance to take the family out for ice cream all spring.” He gestures to the blond woman behind him on the sidewalk, an equally blond infant in one arm and a squirmy little boy clinging to the other. As per tradition when running into work colleagues outside of the office, awkward introductions ensue, but Harry can barely pay attention. As Reggie introduces Marcia or Margie or whoever and little Peyton and Matthew, Harry’s mind races as the moments before play back on repeat. The kissing, the touching… what had he seen? Would he care? Would he spread this around the station? Oh fuck oh fuck no no no no.

 

“And this is Harry.” Louis claps his hand on Harry’s shoulder, snapping him from his panicked daze.

 

Reggie holds out a hairy hand, which Harry shakes timidly. “Nice to meet you,” he all but whispers. The other officer echoes his pleasantries, his face plastered in a polite dad-ly smile.

 

“Well.” Reggie takes the hand of the impatient boy, who has been yanking down his mother’s maxi dress and declares, “We better go in. I think the place closes at ten. Was nice seeing you boys. See you tomorrow, Lew-is.”

 

“Have a good night,” Louis calls after them as they file in through the glass door beneath the neon Scoops! sign. Reggie reaches down to help little Matthew take a running leap onto the curb, but Harry could have sworn he saw Reggie’s eyes dart over to look him over for a fraction of a section before focusing on his toddler as the tyke zooms into the shop. The tiny bell on the door handle tinkles cheerily behind them before silence overtakes the street once more.

 

What was that look about? Oh CHRIST he knows he KNOWS. Harry’s breath comes in shallow spurts, his body feels like a thousand separate parts slowly sliding apart and away from each other. It’s OVER. It’s ALL OVER.

 

For God’s sake, look at him. He had to pick today to wear the Burberry silk tunic, like a walking gay billboard. Louis is a police officer for fuck’s sake. It’s a fucking band of brothers or whatever. This won’t stay secret for long. Reggie’s gonna tell. And then what? Louis never wanted them to know. Would he gonna deny it? “No homo, guys! I’m straight as a board! Boy do I love tits! Oh, and Harry, we’re through because I need a job way more than I need a painfully flamboyant fairy!” Or what if he doesn’t even get a chance to deny it and they make his life a living hell and he has to quit? What if he gets a job in another city’s police department? Would he ask Harry to go with him? Or would that just start this whole mess all over again with a new city of straight people? CHRIST what should-

 

“Harry?”

 

Oh god has he been talking this whole time? Did Louis already break up with him while he was zoning out? Fucking hell, of course this would-

 

“Are you in there, Harry?”

 

“Um.” Harry rubs his forehead with two sweaty hands. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

 

Louis’ brows furrow again; this time not in mock concern, and his voice lowers. “I was just saying you should come to the department picnic this year. Reggie makes a great brisket. But… are you alright?” His hand finds its way onto Harry’s knee, but Harry jumps away like it’s a hot poker.

 

“He knows, Louis!” he hisses. “He saw it all!”

 

Louis’ hand stays frozen in mid air, still reaching for Harry even though he had pulled away, his mouth falling open.

 

“Harry,” he pleads. “Harry, don’t worry. It’s alright.”

 

“How can you say that?” snaps Harry, his hands clawing into his thighs. “If this gets out… if he tells anyone… Louis, you could lose your job over this!”

 

At this, Louis’ eyes widen in realization. His mouth, which had opened to immediately respond, closes slowly. This is it. Now he finally gets it. And he’s going to break up with Harry and be done with it. Skip town while there’s still time and get a nice job as a mall cop in Quebec or something. Hope he knows his French.

 

Harry feels Louis’ fingers slip into his own, prying his nails away from digging further into his thighs. His instincts beg him to pull away, to hide from Reggie and his vanilla wife and his vanilla kids and the whole fucking vanilla world, but if this is the last time he’ll hold Louis’ hand before he gets dumped he might as well soak it in.

 

“Harry, I’m not losing my job,” says Louis, his voice low and warm. “I don’t care if the whole world knows about us.”

 

Okay, was that not a breakup? It didn’t sound like one. Maybe Harry wasn’t paying attention again. Possibly he’s dreaming. After all, Louis would never say he was okay with being out to his fifty straight coworkers, let alone the whole world.

 

“Do you hear me, Harry?” He takes Harry’s face in his hands, his thumbs stroking his cheeks gently. “I’m not afraid.”

 

Definitely not a breakup. Or a dream. Holy mother of-

 

“Do you remember,” Louis says quietly, his hands still holding Harry’s flushed face, “the day we met?”

 

Harry nods. “Of course I do.”

 

“Then you’ll remember how you were the silliest boy in the world who had the balls to flirt shamelessly and relentlessly with the officer who pulled you over.”

 

Harry smirks. “And I remember that you were a closeted jerk with a stick up your ass.”

 

At this, Louis grins too, snaking his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “So then… what happened here? I feel like this is a little backwards.”

 

Harry shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

 

Which is a complete lie, of course. Harry has been aware for quite some time now that this boy is the most special person he will ever know for as long as he lives. And since Harry is prone to screwing up good things on a regular basis, he knows something this special must be protected at all costs. No parading around like a confetti-covered float at Pride, no reckless public displays of affection, no wrong moves. All of it is worth it. For him.

 

“You used to never worry,” Louis remarks. “You didn’t used to care what anyone thought of you.”

 

“Yeah, well.” Harry turns his face away from him. Maybe these things are easier to say when staring at a cigarette butt on the sidewalk. “You really cared what people thought, and I always fuck things up, but you were special and…”

 

He’s already said too much. Every nerve in his body begs him to let the sentence die there and hope for the best, but before he can listen to their pleas, his mouth is already off on its own adventure. “I just want everything with you to be perfect. And special. Because I love you.”

 

_Oh. Holy. Shit._

 

Louis’s eyes widen. His body goes still. “Harry…” he mumbles.

 

“Look, sorry,” Harry interrupts. “I didn’t mean to go all weird on you there.“

 

“I love you too.”

 

It’s only a whisper. Barely audible above Harry’s panicked backtracking. But he hears it just the same.

 

His head whips up to face Louis, who looks at him with a shy little smile.

 

For a few moments, Harry can only look into those blue eyes and grin like an idiot.

 

Louis finds his voice sooner. “Do you want-“

 

But Harry cuts him off by closing his eyes and sealing the space between them with a clumsy kiss. A chuckle hums in Louis’ throat, and he tilts his head to press his lips closer. Then he pulls away laughing.

 

“I was going to say, do you want to go back to my place?”

 

Harry’s heart hammers against his ribcage, “Your place…?” he repeats

 

“It’s only a few blocks away,” Louis points down the street and then offers his hand to Harry.

 

Harry laces his long fingers between Louis’s and pulls him up off the bench.

 

“Lead on, officer.”

 

_

 

Harry’s not sure exactly when their walking turned into kissing and stumbling, but if he had to guess, he’d say it was around the time Louis began fiddling with his keys at the front door of his apartment building. But does it really matter? All that he cares about now is keeping his hands on Louis’ waist, his mouth firmly pressed against his, and his feet flat on the stairs as they make their way clumsily up the two flights to Louis’ apartment.

 

“We’ll never make it,” Harry mutters, his hands slipping under Louis’ wrinkly Nirvana shirt.

 

“Come on, almost there now.” Louis collects one of Harry’s wandering hands and pulls him up the last few stairs into the hallway.

 

Harry manages to tear his eyes away from the glorious ass in front of him to take in the apartment building. The purplish-yellowish glow from the buzzing florescent lights above is just enough to illuminate the dark green carpet and dreadfully beige walls. Louis stops in front of one of the dingy black doors and fumbles with his keys again. Harry wastes no time in seizing this precious opportunity to place his lips on the back of Louis’ neck and wrap his arms around the small, breathtaking man.

 

“You’re distracting me,” groans Louis, the jingling of his keys getting more frantic as he finds the right one and jams it into the lock.

 

“That’s the plan,” laughs Harry, continuing to cover Louis’ neck in soft, breathy kisses.

 

The lock clicks, but Louis pauses before opening the door.

 

“We have to go in pretty quickly. The cat likes to get out when she has a chance.”

Louis flings the door open and Harry hurries behind him into the dark apartment as directed.

 

Louis closes the door behind them, leaving Harry in complete darkness and confusion. He hears Louis moving to his right, his hand sliding along the wall. The light clicks on, and Harry instinctively squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them again, a plush red couch comes into view first, its worn cushions seeming to sink down right into the hardwood floor below. Perfect.

 

He takes both of Louis’s hands and pulls him to the couch, nearly tripping over the nicked, wooden coffee table. The two come crashing down onto the cushions, hands in each other’s hair. Harry leans back and pulls Louis up to lay on top of him, reaching both hands into the back pockets of Louis’s skinny jeans. He can feel Louis’s smile against his own mouth, but he hungrily steals the smile away with a deep kiss.

The clanking of metal on wood pierces the silence, making them both jump. Louis’s police badge skitters along the living room floor. Out from behind the couch, an orange, furry blur zooms into sight, batting the badge into the miniature kitchen.

 

“No, no, no!” Louis leaps up from the couch and scoops his badge and the animal up before it can pursue its prey. “That’s not for you!” he scolds. “For Christ’s sake, I buy you so many goddamn toys and there’s nothing you like better than playing with my stuff.”

 

He cradles the little, orange beast like a newborn, scratching its white stomach while it bites playfully at his fingers.

 

“She’s got awful timing,” Harry groans, sitting up on the couch. “Judging from the fluffy tail and ridiculous antics, I’m guessing this is the famous Cassy?”

 

“She sure is.” Louis sits next to Harry on the couch. “Pain in the ass extraordinaire.”

 

Harry reaches over to pet the cat right between the ears. “It’s weird, you really seem like more of a dog guy to me. Especially since this monster is so… Wait.” Harry pauses, his attention focused on Cassy’s wide, glass-green eyes.

 

“So when you called me that night,” he begins, “and said you took her to the shelter…”

 

Louis cheeks turn an adorable shade of cherry as he sighs. “Well, that’s not entirely a lie. I got to the Animal Rescue League, and they only had one girl manning the desk because it was so late. She was brand new and had no idea where the right paperwork was, so I told her I’d just come back with Cassy the next morning.”

 

“Obviously that didn’t happen.”

 

Louis sets Cassy down on the braided navy blue rug beneath their feet, where she begins attacking a green, plastic jingle ball.

 

“No, it didn’t.” He shakes his head. “So I called you from the parking lot and got it over with. And then when I got home and decided to keep her, I guess I was afraid to call you back and tell you.” His voice softens as he confesses,” I didn’t really want anything to do with you at that point. What with everything at work with the guys… your, um, big personality would certainly alert them to what I was hiding.”

 

An ache stretches across Harry’s chest.

 

“What are you saying?

 

“I was so afraid, Harry.” Louis seizes his hand with both of his own. “And then when we started texting it got so much worse. I didn’t want to tell you anything about me. I didn’t want to know you. You were so unashamed of who you were. Unlike me,” he sighs. “But there was… something so entrancing about you. So I let you in, and you broke that wall down. But it was too late to tell you I kept the cat without looking completely mental,” he laughs quietly.

 

Harry entwines his fingers with Louis’, “Well, you still look mental. Hiding a cat in the closet with you just to avoid me. It’s just crazy.”

 

“Did I mention how exactly _how_ entrancing I find you?”

 

“No, you skipped over that part a bit.” Harry grins. “Do tell.”

 

Louis chooses to answer by reaching his arms up around Harry’s neck and initiating more kiss-stumbling through the living room, past the kitchen, and towards the door at the end of the short hallway. He nudges the door open with his foot and leads Harry into the bedroom.

 

Absently, Harry thinks of how lucky it is that Louis showed him his place first. Louis seems to have prepared for this, because the place is spic and span. Harry imagines trying to lead Louis through the ocean of clothes on his bedroom floor to get to the bed (also known as Clean Clothes That Never Get Put Away Mountain). Louis pulls Harry down to the red and white striped bedspread, reaching for the buttons of his silky blouse. Harry moves to work on Louis’ belt, but as he shifts his weight on the bed, he feels something lumpy pushing on his back.

 

“What the-“ he mutters, pulling back on the comforter to reveal a well spread out pile of clothes under the bedspread.

 

“You’re as messy as me!” Harry howls. “You’re just better at hiding it.”

 

“You should see the closet,” Louis chuckles sheepishly.

 

“I didn’t come here to see your closet, though,” Harry notes, pushing handfuls of clothes one by one onto the floor. As he grabs for a hooded sweatshirt, an orange paw darts forward out of nowhere and latches onto the strings of the hood.

 

“Sorry, Cassy,” Louis says, lifting the squirmy cat from the bed. “Three’s a crowd.”

 

He places the cat down in the hallway and closes the door behind her as Harry sweeps the rest of the clothes onto the previously tidy floor.

 

“Officer, I could use some help over here,” Harry calls, his fingers moving to the buttons on his blouse.

 

Louis crosses the room, eyes fixed on Harry’s as he grins.

 

“Hands where I can see ‘em, sir.”

 


End file.
